King’s Meadow

Leaves falling down

across the path


birds flying overhead

green is the grass

brown are the trees


squirrels climbing high

branches hanging low

crows in the air

then on the ground


windy weather all around


When all is done, nothing left.
What once was new, is old again.
To stand upon the shore,
the seas subconscious call.

Birds fly past, rekindle thoughts.
Rejoice! for the wind has given breath,
so we may feel the light
to ignite the pinnacles of heaven.